


Conflict of Interest

by librophile



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Don't copy to another site, Episode Style, Family, Friendship, Gen, No Slash, Yavin Ghost crew, pre-season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25156735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librophile/pseuds/librophile
Summary: A routine supply mission turns complicated when Kallus and the Ghost crew discover an Imperial prisoner facing execution… as Lothal’s Fulcrum.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I created this story concept pretty much the day I saw the Season 3 finale, but didn't bother to write it at that point. I figured we'd get a Kallus-centric episode in Season 4, focusing on the fall-out of his defection, that would negate my story.  
> That never happened.  
> So I reconfigured the story details slightly, and created a canon-compliant/stand alone story that fits within the timeframe created by Season 4.  
> Enjoy!

The dappled blue and white of hyperspace whirled irregularly around the octagonal Corellian VCX-100 spacecraft that traversed it, the characteristic muted whistling sound of faster-than-light travel sounding against its hull. Legally known as the _Ghost_ , the light freighter appeared slightly battered upon closer inspection. Minor dents left marks at intervals across its grayish-tan metal exterior, a few dangerously close to the small, bulbous transparisteel windows that marked the gunners’ turrets.

Through the cargo bay viewport at the rear and inside the ship itself, the whistling was reduced to a soft hum for the room’s sole occupant: a moss-green Twi’lek in a tan mechanic’s jumpsuit, with matching goggles perched atop her head. She had her back to the view, all attention fixed on the rectangular communications device in her hand. “How are things going with Sabine’s clan?” she asked.

Hera Syndulla watched as the tiny, blue-toned, three-dimensional hologram of a ponytailed adult Human folded his arms, rubbing slightly at his beard with one hand. Briefly, she wished that she could see his face more clearly; between the half-mask he was wearing over his eyes and the size of the holo, it wasn’t the best representation. “Pretty good,” he replied, his voice echoing slightly. “The Mandalorians aren’t too keen on having Jedi for allies, but I think they’re warming up. Plus,” he added, unfolding his arm fully to gesture, “I think we may finally have that intel breakthrough we’ve been looking for.” The man smiled. “How are things on the _Ghost_?”

“Running well with the temporary crew,” she admitted, tapered twin head-tails twitching slightly behind her shoulders. “Rex works well with Zeb on the guns, AP-5 has taken over inventory, and Kallus is my new co-pilot. He’s also nearing the end of his Alliance probation.”

Kanan huffed, folding his arms again. “That was unnecessary in the first place.” No one who had seen Kallus beaten and bloodied, working as hard as any of the uninjured to help the survivors despite his own wounds, could ever doubt his loyalty. Unfortunately, this included only a smattering of soldiers outside the Phoenix cell and a single member of Rebel Command.

“Which is why he’s on the _Ghost_ ,” Hera reminded him. “At least here he’s allowed to pull his own weight instead of sitting somewhere filing datawork.”

He grimaced. “Yeah.” A shout from off-holo caught his attention, and Kanan turned his head to the side in response before adding quickly, “Got to go. See you, Hera.” The comm. image flickered and disappeared.

Hera pocketed the comm. and walked under the balcony leading to the second level, through the rounded-top automatic door that slid open as she neared it, and down the hall toward the lounge, from which she could hear the distinct tones of a self-satisfied Imperial broadcaster.

“…earlier this week. Admiral Thrawn announced his support for Governor Pryce’s call for higher security measures in response to tragedy on Lothal, with the deaths of both Admiral Konstantine and Agent Kallus at the hands of Rebel insurgents –”

She entered the room as a large, purple-furred Lasat leaned to shut off the broadcast, the holographic Imperial cog and pompous Imperial voice disappearing back into the room’s central table with a faint electronic whine.

The stocky, armored Human male seated on the table’s left rolled his brown eyes at the broadcaster’s words, turning with a smirk to where another Human with dark hair and squared sideburns sat across the table from him. “Looks like you made quite an impression. They hate you so much they have to kill you in effigy.”

“I believe it’s more that they can’t admit I defected, Rex,” Kallus pointed out in reply, his expression combined amusement at the quip and disgust at the subject. “I was in ISB, which means I had access to more information than most. They are unable to admit my change of allegiance without also admitting something is wrong with the Empire itself.”

Sitting between the two, Zeb snorted as his feline-like ears curled at the tips, flattened face mirroring the disgust on his friend’s. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“In any case, I need you at your stations,” Hera interjected. “We’ll be coming up on Rantoon any minute.”

“Excellent,” a human-resembling inventory droid intoned from the doorway, his extended, rectangular mouth grill glowing a dull red with each syllable. “The Atollon survivors are in desperate need of supplies.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Rex stretched and stood up from his seat, slapping AP-5’s dark-gray shoulder plating with his right hand as he passed. “Get the supplies, get out – just your ordinary supply run.”

“With our track record, that means it will immediately descend into chaos,” AP-5 retorted. He turned and walked away the way Hera had come.

Zeb winced. “I hope he didn’t just jinx us,” he muttered under his breath, following Rex.

Kallus made a move to stand, but Hera shook her head slightly at him. A moment later Kallus and Hera were the only ones left in the room. Hera took a deep breath to brace herself before addressing her crewmate. “With you officially declared dead,” she began, “is there any chance they’ll leave it at that?”

Kallus shook his head, arms folded loosely on the tabletop as his brown eyes glanced up to meet her own. “Unlikely,” he replied. “ISB will probably be informed, if only so they can prevent such things in the future. I don’t see the Empire leaving me at large as long as they hold out hope of my recapture."

“That’s what I thought,” Hera sighed. “We’ll just have to make sure they don’t. No unnecessary risks until we know for certain what the Empire is up to.”

Kallus nodded. “Agreed.”

* * *

The streaks of hyperspace thickened, then disappeared entirely as the sight from the cockpit window resolved into a reddish moon. “Well, there it is. Rantoon,” Hera announced to her crew.

Automatically her green eyes scanned their surroundings: a yellow gas giant with a rocky asteroid belt, which Rantoon orbited; a small sun; and a backdrop of space filled with millions of stars. No space traffic to worry about at the moment. Rantoon itself, she knew, was an inhabited moon, possessing a manufactured atmosphere and a weaving orange mountain range which gradually came into view as they approached. Briefly, Hera wondered if the coloration was natural or the result of some disaster. So many worlds were disaster- and war-torn anymore she wouldn’t dare to hazard a guess.

AP-5, relegated to the cargo bay by default, cared nothing for the view of the world below and voiced his impatience over the communication system, drawing Hera out of speculation. “If I may, the longer we stay in orbit, the more likely we’ll be observed.”

“Understood, AP-5,” Hera acknowledged, “but we need to know the lay of the land first.” She glanced at her co-pilot, who was already connecting his datapad to the communications console, then back at the comm. link itself. “Just make sure those signal scramblers are full power; no point in risking more than we have to.”

“An obvious conclusion,” AP-5 dismissed.

Hera rolled her eyes and turned back to Kallus. “I know we went over this before leaving, but explain again what we’re dealing with here.”

“There’s a garrison only a few kliks away from our rendezvous. We’ll want to avoid the eastern continent if an emergency arises – they’re in the middle of a civil war the Empire has no interest in mediating,” the ex-Imperial clarified. “We don’t want to risk an unfriendly reception or draw attention to ourselves.”

“What about our landing zone?” Rex’s voice questioned. Rex himself – one of many Human duplicates of a single man named Jango Fett – was likely checking the controls in his gunner’s turret as he spoke, making sure he would be prepared to fight at a moment’s notice.

“It appears to be clear,” Kallus answered him. He swiped through what appeared to be transcripts of garrison troop communications on the datapad, and Hera very deliberately didn’t think about how he’d accessed them. “No local festivals, so trooper presence is low. The people here aren’t fond of the Empire but tolerate them.”

“Is that ‘don’t care they’re here’ or ‘wish they weren’t here’?” Zeb’s voice asked dryly.

Kallus smirked, unseen by the Lasat on the other end. “I believe it may be a bit of both,” he replied. “Our contact would seem to be of the latter variety.”

“I know our contact personally, and he’s no more fond of the Empire than we are,” Hera confirmed.

Kallus continued to leaf through the communications, pausing for a long moment on one. Hera looked up sharply to see Kallus’s expression change from mild amusement to deep concern. “Kallus? What is it?”

Kallus exhaled and shook his head. “I apologize.”

Realizing at a glance that she would learn nothing from him at the moment, Hera took the datapad in one gloved hand and scrutinized it. Kallus surrendered it without comment. His arms folded and one hand came up to clasp his bare chin, a blank expression on his face.

Hera looked up from her reading and asked one question. “Kallus, is this legitimate?”

Her companion gave her a troubled glance. “These are all communications from the local garrison. That one must have been misfiled – it should be a priority clearance – but it was sent hours ago.”

“What’s wrong?” Zeb’s voice demanded from the speaker.

Hera took a deep breath through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, then took the yoke and turned her ship away from the world below and toward the asteroid belt.

“What – The rendezvous is that way!” Rex protested.

“I know. We’ll have to delay that a bit.” Hera chose an asteroid large enough to conceal the _Ghost_ and engaged the magnetic clamps, locking them onto its surface. “Everyone to the main room. We have something… _new_ to discuss.”

“Like what?” Zeb growled.

Hera pursed her lips. “It seems we may have another Fulcrum agent to rescue.”

* * *

The temporary _Ghost_ crew gathered minutes later. Hera stood in front of the projection table; Kallus sat to her right, while Zeb slouched on the opposite side of the table, flanked at his right by a standing Rex. AP-5 stood near the door, the last to arrive.

“This is a trap,” Zeb growled, pointed ears curling at the tips with discomfort. “Kallus is _here_. He escaped.” His tone added that anyone trying to change that would go through him.

“And Commander Tano’s not the one they’re talking about,” Rex interjected in a grave, if slightly regretful tone. He looked around at the others, full white beard bristling below his bald head. “They specifically said ‘he’ would pay for his crimes. Besides,” he added dryly, “they’d be making more of a fuss over a non-Human Jedi than a spy if that were the case.”

“There are other Fulcrum agents besides Lothal’s,” Hera replied pointedly. “Besides which we can hardly afford to lose an agent at this point – we’re shorthanded enough as it is. But you’re right, this could be a trap for Kallus.”

“So who do they have?” Zeb asked. Attempting to lighten the atmosphere, he quipped, “He have a double running around the galaxy somewhere?” He nudged Rex, who snorted.

Kallus let out a huff that might have been intended as a laugh. “Not that I’m aware of. No,” he continued, sobering, “there is actually one more being I know personally who could be prosecuted as Fulcrum.”

“Well, there’s you,” Rex began slowly, “and there’s Ahsoka.”

Hera glanced up sharply. “And,” she added, her eyes narrowing, “there’s Lieutenant Lyste.”

Zeb’s already-large green eyes widened even further. “What? _Him?_ Why would the Empire kill one of their own officers?” Kallus gave him a flat look. “Well, besides you.”

Rex face-palmed.

“Because I framed him so I could remain in position as Fulcrum,” Kallus replied shortly. “With my supposed death, they have to account for Fulcrum in some way – and Lyste knows he’s not the guilty party, which means he could be considered a loose end. But with my arrest, on far more than circumstantial evidence, he should have been unquestionably cleared.” The frustration in his voice was evident. “Even if I were dead, they have no legal standing for it unless they believe him to be an accomplice.” He sighed. “Perhaps I should have accepted when you first offered extraction.”

“If you had, we _all_ would have died,” Zeb pointed out gruffly. “And so would the Lothal Rebel cell and who knows how many innocent people who got caught in the fight.”

Kallus nodded faintly in acknowledgement. He knew all of this logically; he’d spent many painstaking nights categorically tearing apart every detail he knew in search of what had gone wrong. They all knew there was nothing more he could have done to change the outcome at the Battle of Atollan.

In the face of a possibly related casualty, though…

“And instead I may have sent an innocent man to his death,” the new Rebel replied heavily. Visibly bracing himself, he looked up at Hera. “I’ll follow your lead on whatever you decide, Captain Syndulla.”

“No.” Hera put her hands on her hips. “ _We’ll_ follow _your_ lead.” As his eyes widened, she put a gloved hand on his shoulder. “If this checks out, it’s intel our sources completely missed. I’ve almost lost crewmembers to lacking intel before,” Hera continued firmly, “and I don’t appreciate flying blind when we don’t have to. You know Fulcrum network and Imperial protocol better than any of us. How we continue will ultimately be your decision.” Her shoulders fell slightly. “The execution is scheduled for tomorrow.”

With Kallus still staring at Hera in shock and gratitude, Zeb gave him a commiserating glance and deliberately moved on to the next stage – the idea pool. “Well, I say the Rebel leaders can just wait on their extra blankets. Can we meet him somewhere else later?”

“Those ‘blankets’ are for the Phoenix survivors, among others,” Hera countered, “and no, this is a one time opportunity.”

“If we stay, there’s a chance that they’ll figure out Kallus is here and try to kill him instead,” Rex pointed out, “if that wasn’t their plan in the first place.”

“No one deserves to die like that,” Zeb muttered, arms folded. “We’re not seriously going to _leave_ the guy there, are we?”

“The prisoner may be Imperial,” Hera reminded him. “Especially if it’s a set-up.”

“We can’t just leave him there, especially if there’s a chance he’s actually guilty,” retorted Rex – then he sighed. “But I do agree we need the supplies.”

AP-5 shook his head and informed them, “Given the timing, chances of the execution subject being Lieutenant Lyste are quite high. Other possibilities are a different man framed for the crime, a Fulcrum agent we were not aware of, a look-alike mistaken for Kallus, or an actor placed by the Empire to play the part. But if I may advise, it is still likely to be a trap.”

“But most likely with either a Rebel agent or an innocent man as bait,” Hera concluded flatly. She sighed and changed the subject back to its intended focus. “I have other contacts I could use – it’s possible we could get our supplies elsewhere, but probably less and lower quality. There are some back at base who might not survive without the right kind of bacta.”

Zeb cursed as he connected the dots, hitting the table with one striped forearm. “How are we supposed to choose?” he demanded. His deep voice became slightly hoarse as he added, “Either way, someone dies.”

“What if it doesn’t have to be a choice…” Kallus suddenly spoke aloud. Instantly finding himself the center of attention, he continued tersely, “I’m fairly certain we are all in agreement to remain here – correct?” He glanced around to see nods from all sides. “We’ve been planning this as if we have to choose between the mission and the life of a possible Rebel spy. But what if we can do both?”

There was silence for a moment before Rex chuckled, his arms crossed. “Now _that’s_ thinking worthy of a Rebel. What do you have in mind?”

Kallus reached under the table, fiddling with the controls a moment before the three-dimensional holographic display came to life to show a map of their target city. With a quick tap on the image it zoomed in on Imperial headquarters. “First we need to know who the prisoner is and where they’re holding him – or not holding, if it is someone hired to play a part. Meanwhile, we meet with our contact and begin loading.” He looked at Rex. “Which is where we need to discuss what to do next, should it be Lyste or a Rebel agent.”

The Clone looked thoughtful, stroking his beard. “I’d say we try to break him out.”

“Wait a minute,” Hera interjected in alarm. “If it is Lyste, we’re trying to _help_ , not make things worse. If the Rebellion comes to his rescue, it will only confirm the charges to the Empire.”

Zeb shrugged. “So? I thought Kallus said Lyste was one of the more likely Rebel-types. We’d just be skipping a step.”

“I meant ‘at some future point’ – _if_ then – certainly not now!” Kallus exclaimed. “He’s just as blindly loyal to the Empire as I once was, and given the circumstances he has no reason to trust the Rebellion or its members.”

“I suppose there is one other option,” AP-5 interjected in bored tones.

“Which is?” Hera raised one black eyebrow.

“Warning him.”

Kallus’s own eyebrows shot up along with those of everyone else in the room before he exchanged a glance with Hera, who was beginning to nod thoughtfully. “You’re in charge, Kallus,” she reminded him. “Our next move is up to you.”

Deep in thought, Kallus missed the quick, concerned glance between Rex and Zeb. Hera noticed the glance and narrowed her eyes at them.

“All right,” Kallus began, drawing their attention back, “before we make any further decision, we need to know who the Empire is holding, or if they are. I believe AP-5 would be the most inconspicuous for that role.” The dubious look he shot in the droid’s direction spoke otherwise, but at least Chopper wasn’t here to make things worse. “Captain Syndulla will be needed aboard the _Ghost_ to make contact with our supplier, and we’ll need someone with her to help load.”

“I’ll do that,” Rex suggested.

Kallus shook his head. “We need at least two of us on standby in case we need to enter the base.”

Zeb started to raise a hand and Kallus cocked his head slightly, a long-suffering look on his face as he looked at Zeb’s full-body purple fur, sleeveless jumpsuit, and height that towered over most sentients. Zeb hesitated, then sheepishly lowered his hand.

The ex-agent cleared his throat, betraying his nervousness. “Given the circumstances, I believe it would be best if Captain Rex and myself were the ones to be on standby. We’ll need to repossess a low-grade officer’s uniform and a set of stormtrooper armor.”

Zeb frowned. “Your face could blow the whole thing,” he remarked bluntly.

A slight smile teased at the corners of Kallus’s mouth. “I wasn’t thinking of myself as the officer.”

Everyone looked at Rex, whose eyes widened. “No. Absolutely not.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was black, and bushy, and sleekly tapered at the corners. Zeb couldn’t keep his eyes off it. It made the tanned face it was attached to look decades younger.

The face that was currently scowling.

“Zeb, if you stare at my mustache one more time…” Rex growled.

Zeb blinked before looking away guiltily. He couldn’t help it – Rex didn’t look like Rex with most of his beard shaved off, let alone the dye job. It was a good thing Rex already knew how to dye hair, since Sabine wasn’t aboard to lend a hand. He and Hera wouldn’t have been much help, so the only real option left would have been Kallus… and Rex was still grumpy about being convinced to play officer. Then again, the only alternative would have been to send Kallus in alone, and they all knew what a bad idea that was. The ex-agent had an unhealthy habit of considering everyone’s safety but his own.

As if summoned by the thought, Kallus entered the cockpit. He glanced at Rex, scrutinizing his disguise critically for a moment before nodding. “That should be adequate. The last thing we need is for you to be recognized instead.”

Rex scowled at him. “I had _one_ close run-in with _one_ Imperial officer.”

“Is that what we’re calling interrogations these days?” Kallus asked dryly.

He was saved from the Clone’s retort by the arrival of both AP-5 and Hera. The Twi’lek captain, familiar with their banter, ignored the resulting awkward silence and turned to face Kallus. “Our supplier shouldn’t be long. When do you want to head out?”

“AP-5 should get into the base as quickly as possible,” he replied. “Rex and I will need to be outside the spaceport so as not to arouse suspicion if the time comes to move.”

“Which it probably will,” Zeb growled under his breath.

“All comms will be on standby, correct?” Rex turned to look at Hera.

“Yes,” Hera confirmed. “We’ll be waiting on your signal. If anything goes wrong we’ll come in no matter where you are, so make sure you’re in the open first.”

“All right then,” the Clone huffed a breath. “Let’s go.”

The three members of the infiltration team exited the cockpit, and Hera pressed the ramp controls to the quiet hiss of hydraulics. A few moments later, the sound repeated as their friends closed the ramp behind them.

Hera sighed, looking out at the empty hangar below. “Well, all there is to do now… is wait.”

“I hate this part,” Zeb groaned.

* * *

AP-5 walked alongside the garrison walls, glancing up briefly to see old-world stone watchtowers above. The building had clearly been reclaimed from an earlier time-period to serve the Empire – and it wasn’t easy on the eyes, either. It was built from the same bright orange stone as the surrounding mountain range, and someone’s half-hearted attempt at painting it gray had resulted in a untidy display that appealed to no one. “I hope these access codes work,” the droid warned Kallus over the comm.

“They will,” Kallus’s voice replied tersely. “Changing the general codes out would take years. It hasn’t been _that_ long since I left.”

“They’re still using codes from the Clone Wars, after all,” Rex’s voice added dryly, tone slightly muffled by static. “Don’t worry about it. If something _does_ go wrong, we get to shoot up an ugly building.”

“Very reassuring,” the droid replied sarcastically, then shut off the comm. before turning the corner to approach the gates.

Two white-armored stormtroopers on either side of the gate turned toward him as he approached, holding blast rifles at the ready. Their true faces were concealed by polished white helmets, each adorned with the typical straight black line across the temples, glassy black ‘eyes,’ the downturned curve of the breathing vent, and two circular ports for air filtration on either side of the recessed grille of the (also black) chin vocoder. “Halt!” the trooper on the right ordered with raised hand, his helmet’s scowling impression not alleviated by the stern, slightly mechanized voice emitting from it. AP-5 obliged. “Let’s see your authorization.”

AP-5 held out the card Kallus had assembled before arrival. It wasn’t an ID card in anything but appearance; Kallus had loaded basic override and access codes into it. The combination was enough to trick the sensors and grant access, or so their newest team member had informed them. It was a system-wide glitch no one had bothered correcting yet… if they’d noticed in the first place.

The trooper who had spoken swiped the card through a scanner on the wall behind him, and its light flashed green. “He’s clear,” he told his partner, and the second trooper opened the gate for the droid to enter.

* * *

By an exterior wall, Kallus looked at his datapad as the screen flashed. “Good work,” he said into the comm Rex was holding. “Now get back to the ship before our contact gets here. Specter Two will need your help.”

“Good luck,” the droid’s voice replied, then the line went dead.

Rex pocketed the comm. “Well?” he asked.

“The prisoner was a transfer from Lothal, so unless there’s been a substitution our target’s origins are confirmed,” his companion told him, pocketing the pad. “We also have a number for the cell where he’s being held.”

“Let’s go then.”

Kallus shook his head as Rex glanced in the direction of a passing trooper. “No need to inconvenience any of the local troops. This garrison is relatively makeshift. Their supplies – including the uniforms,” he added with a smirk, walking past Rex, “are in an external building under minimal guard.”

It wasn’t long before the two men were dropping down from a window into the warehouse, landing almost silently within. The building was dimly lit by numerous multi-panel windows along the roof, and Rex looked in disbelief at the runes and diagrams on the walls which helpfully informed them of the whereabouts of various supplies. “Well organized, aren’t they?”

“It makes things run more smoothly,” Kallus replied quietly, scanning the labels as they walked through. “Unfortunately all too few commanders bother with it – but there’s a reason it’s so simple to ‘liberate’ supplies without notice in a disorganized space.”

“If you can find the right supplies in the first place,” Rex grumbled. “Ah – uniforms.” He lifted the crate’s lid to reveal a sea of gray cloth. “Not much color, is there?”

“Pick a combination that should fit,” Kallus reminded him. “An ill-fitting uniform on an officer is a dead giveaway.”

“Right.”

Minutes later Rex adjusted his gray cap, placed the final piece of his armor in a dented crate, and scowled at his blurred reflection on the side of the latter. His crisp gray uniform and black mustache made him nearly unrecognizable, and he looked the part of an Imperial officer… except for the missing rank badge and easy posture. He couldn’t decide if this was better or worse than posing as a stormtrooper. On one hand, there wasn’t any armor whatsoever in this getup. On the other, he at least got to keep his own weapons.

The Clone clicked his comm to signal for their things to be picked up before glancing around. “Kallus?” he called. “You ready yet?”

“Yes,” came a voice, and Rex jerked as white armor rounded the crate in front of him – then relaxed as he saw Kallus’s face above it. Kallus raised an eyebrow, and the Clone ignored it. So he had a bit of a reaction to trooper armor. What Rebel didn’t?

Kallus deposited his own things in the crate, and Rex critically assessed his friend’s disguise as he straightened. Kallus had donned white, polished, and slightly bulbous plastisteel armor over a black bodyglove and boots, the standard ensamble that made up a stormtrooper’s uniform. He stood with military stiffness, holding his helmet under one arm.

Rex looked a second time and chuckled. “That hair is hardly regulation.”

Kallus brushed medium-length hair out of his face. “You’re one to talk; you have no hair to speak of. Though helmets obscure such things rather well.” He held his own helmet out in front of him, surveying the inside of its two black-tinted viewports.

“At least I can see in my headgear,” the Clone quipped. “I’ll have to do all the shooting if something goes wrong.”

“That shouldn’t be an issue,” came the quick answer. “There’s a minor wiring defect in these mass produced helmets – it corrupts the internal display and minimizes peripheral vision. However, if you’re fortunate enough to have some experience in that area…”

Kallus did something to the inside of the helmet, then handed it to Rex, who eyed the item before slipping it on. Rex’s shoulders drew back in surprise before he ripped the helmet off again to stare at Kallus in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Just a wiring issue? Stormtroopers have been awful shots for years ‘cause they can’t see, and they _still_ haven’t fixed it?”

Kallus’s mouth twitched. “Welcome to the Empire.” He handed Rex a rank bar, then reclaimed the helmet and placed it on his own head.

“Well, that explains the helmet you used to wear,” Rex muttered, clipping the badge on. “No electronic interference there – Wait a minute. Why do you know how to modify a stormtrooper helmet?”

The ‘trooper’ stiffened slightly. With the man’s face now hidden Rex couldn’t see his expression, but Kallus’s tone was calm. “This isn’t the first time I’ve worn the armor.”

Rex gave him a sidelong glance and decided not to confront the issue. “Well. Better not let Ezra hear that or he’ll be wanting _your_ helmet for his collection.”

Kallus chuckled, his voice slightly muffled through said helmet. “I think you might be right. I suppose it has a certain prestige to it in his eyes – though I've never understood that particular fixation.”

Standing at parade rest, E-11 rifle held level across his chest, the false trooper nodded to Rex. “Lead the way, Sergeant.”

* * *

“There you are!”

A greenish-gray skinned humanoid dressed in brown jacket and dark trousers walked quickly toward them, extending a five-fingered hand in greeting. Hera extended her own gloved hand and they shook. “Good to see you, Ankar,” she greeted.

Ankar Tolden’s face was wrinkled and otherwise without contour from the front, and lacked a nose and visible hearing organs entirely in the characteristic look of the Neimoidian species. His pupilless red-bronze eyes glanced toward Zeb and AP-5 before returning to Hera. “Small crew you’ve got right now.”

“Well, the others are away at the moment, so we make do with what we have,” Hera replied neutrally. She doubted the presence of a Clone Trooper would have eased the mind of a man whose species had infamously fought for the opposing side. “I assume the shipment is here?”

The spacer gestured toward the two hover racks behind him, pushed by droids and loaded to the top with crates. “As we agreed.”

Hera nodded and gestured her crew forward. “We’ll start loading then.”

“My droids and I can help with that,” Ankar offered in his gravelly voice. “We’re in no hurry.”

She hesitated a moment before agreeing, “That would be appreciated.” While Ankar wasn’t a member of the Rebellion, he was trustworthy, and the sooner the Ghost was loaded the sooner they could leave – and who knew if their side mission would go wrong. It was better to be prepared.

Somehow, Hera suspected they would need it.

* * *

A black mustached sergeant made his way down the halls of Rantoon’s garrison headquarters, head high, posture straight, and ignoring anyone lower in rank than him who happened to cross his path. Behind him and a step to the right walked a stormtrooper with rifle at the ready, steps exactly in time with his superior and equally undistracted from his course. None of the detention level guards thought it odd that they didn’t recognize the officer; he was likely part of the visiting detatchment from Lothal.

If they had known the truth, they might have been less passive about the matter. And perhaps noticed when the officer used a near-collision with another sergeant to swipe his code cylinder.

The ‘officer’ slowed slightly as they approached cell 385. “Is this the one?” he muttered under his breath to the ‘stormtrooper’ following him.

Fully concealed by the armor, Kallus tapped his rifle twice with two fingers to confirm. He heard a barely audible hiss of breath as Rex exhaled, grabbed the code cylinder off his utility belt, and entered it into the cell’s access port.

The grey door hissed open to reveal the cell’s sole occupant laying on a hard metal bunk on the far end. He quickly scrambled to sit upright, revealing dark hair and a youthful face with shadowed blue eyes. Kallus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding; it was, indeed, Lieutenant Lyste, and if this was a trap he was unlikely to be complicit. Captivity had clearly been hard on his former co-worker. Lyste’s face showed fading bruises, and he sat with a slight hunch that could indicate either defensiveness or bruised ribs.

Despite his appearance, Lyste faced the supposed Sergeant head on and met his eyes squarely. “I’m innocent,” he stated passionately, in the slightly despairing tone of one repeating information they had already given many times before. “You have to find the real spy, they’re still out there. Governor Pryce was involved – Agent Kallus can tell you, he was there.”

Rex shifted awkwardly, and Kallus realized he hadn’t yet confirmed the prisoner’s identity to his partner. He repeated the two taps from before. Rex nodded without taking his eyes off Lyste and signaled over his shoulder for him to close the door. The false trooper glanced to the side and pressed the controls outside the cell, then stepped in after his ‘superior,’ subtly pushing a data card into the gap to prevent the door from locking correctly. They couldn’t afford some passerby becoming suspicious of an open cell, but the mission would be over very quickly if they managed to lock themselves inside it.

Especially since they didn’t know if Lyste would be leaving with them.

Rex stood completely straight, and for the first time Kallus could see the GAR officer he had once been as he proceeded with the ‘interrogation.’ “From what I heard Kallus was the one to stop you from attacking the Governor,” he remarked in a disinterested tone.

“That…” the lieutenant looked down. “That I can’t explain. He said ISB was watching her, asked me to help – then she attacked a stormtrooper and I stopped her, and the next thing I knew I was under arrest.” Lyste looked up again, almost defiantly. “But I’m sure he had his reasons. He’ll tell you, or haven’t you talked to him yet?”

Rex glanced at his companion, quirking a brow minutely in question. The ex-agent hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, and Lyste flinched slightly, clearly expecting a blow for his comment. Kallus waited for him to look up again before removing his helmet. “I’m right here,” he said quietly.

An awkward silence fell for a moment. Lyste stared at him in disbelief and attempted to speak. “What – ” Finding his voice far too high pitched, he coughed and asked at a more normal volume, his eyes lighting with cautious hope, “What’s going on?”

“I’m afraid that you are at the center of a plot,” Kallus replied simply, helmet held loosely beneath his arm. “The real Fulcrum agent has escaped Imperial custody. The Empire has no one else to blame, and I’m afraid that you are the person designated to take the fall. They’ve scheduled your execution for tomorrow.”

Lyste stared at him in disbelief, denial coloring his features. “No. The Empire would never do that. Why would you say that? How – Did _you_ catch the spy? Who was it?”

Kallus cleared his throat nervously, glancing at Rex. Rex chose to remain silent and let him conduct the conversation, only tapping his wrist briefly to remind him that time was short. “I know,” he replied finally, “because I am the one who accidentally put you in this situation. _I_ was Fulcrum.”

Lyste answered with an expression of incredulity. “You couldn’t be. How could _you_ be –” Then he went quiet, apparently recognizing and connecting some of the missing details of his imprisonment. He absently tugged at the gray sleeve of his prison uniform.

Seeing his hesitation, Kallus pressed on. “If you remain here, you face death within a matter of hours. Your life is endangered. If you choose, you may remain here. Or we can help you escape.”

Lyste glanced at Rex – apparently connecting that if Kallus was a Rebel, so was the supposed officer standing before him – then shook his head again. “No. The Empire would never do that. Maybe they’ve announced an execution to draw in someone else, but they would never do that. You’ll see,” he said confidently.

Kallus could remember feeling that same blind faith, not that long ago. He let his shoulders fall. “We’ll honor your decision, whatever it may be,” he replied quietly. “All I ask is that you reconsider. It’s your life at stake.”

Lyste frowned at him. “I – how could you be a spy? It doesn’t make any sense. Why?”

“When you ask questions, you tend to find the answers,” Kallus replied grimly. “And they seldom cast the Empire in a positive light.”

The lieutenant shook his head, determined. “I am loyal to the Empire,” he asserted firmly.

“Understood,” Kallus acknowledged, pained at Lyste’s choice. He doubted he would ever see the man alive again. “With that the case, I’m afraid our time here is running short. Goodbye, Lieutenant.”

Rex twisted the card inserted into the door, and the door obligingly slid open – only to reveal a clear sight down the barrels of five blaster rifles. Eyes widening in shock, he looked past them to see a full squad of white-armored stormtroopers, ten men in all…

… Headed by Governor Pryce.

“Well,” she remarked. “It seems the Rebels have come after all.” Pryce’s icy blue eyes moved past him only to fall on Kallus, and surprise widened them for a moment before a cold smile appeared on her face. “Though not quite the Rebels I expected… It seems that the execution of an innocent draws even the most unlikely of candidates. With your recapture, my own failure is at an end.

“It seems we will be having a double execution,” she added sharply to her captive audience. “Or perhaps three, should we choose to forgo interrogating your friend. It’s been a while since this world has had any form of enforcement shown; this should help cement their loyalty to the Empire – show them what happens to those who act against it.”

Unnoticed behind the two Rebels, Lyste stiffened in shock.


	3. Chapter 3

The entire left side of the Ghost’s hold was stacked full with crates, and AP-5 glanced appraisingly over the ensemble before subtly shoving a particularly dented crate behind another and exiting to join the rest of his crew. They were already doing final negotiations, and their contact was relaxed and looked satisfied. Good. Fewer chances of being betrayed by the supplier.

“Good doing business with you,” Ankar concluded, shaking Hera’s hand.

The Twi’lek shook his hand in return. “The terms are agreeable then? We’ve transferred half the funds to your account, and we’ll send the rest as soon as we’re away.”

“Good,” he nodded. “I trust you to keep your word, even if I don’t trust others in your business,” he added, his gravelly voice carrying a wry undertone.

Hera’s smile was tolerant, if a touch rueful. She’d heard several renditions of this over the last few months – most of them from her own crew, as Rebel Command repeatedly fell short due to the internal politics of too many groups attempting to integrate at once – and at this point was just tired of the whole matter. “Clear skies, Ankar.”

Negotiations over, the Neimoidian gestured for his droids to follow and exited the hangar bay, disappearing past a small group of green-skinned Rodians as they passed the door. Moments later he was gone, no one the wiser that a Rebel transaction had taken place right on their doorstep.

Zeb was already frowning at Hera when she turned around. “What’s taking them so long?”

“They had to get into the base without being noticed,” she reminded him – and herself. “They need to be inconspicuous and go in as quietly as possible. So no, you can’t call them.”

“I still don’t like it,” Zeb growled from behind her as they walked through the _Ghost_ ’s cargo bay and into the hall, AP-5 trailing behind them. “They should have checked in by now, even if they were taking their time.”

Hera bit her lip to avoid responding. It _had_ been too long; they should have been back by now. At the very least they should have commed to let them know whether or not the mission was a success, or even just with an update. The lapse was unlike Kallus. So far she’d hesitated, but now…

She sighed as they entered the cockpit, sitting back into her accustomed seat in the pilot’s chair and glancing at her fellow crewmember. “Open the comm channel and mute our end,” she acquiesced against her better judgment. “If we’re already listening there’s no way we’ll miss our signal.”

Her purple-furred crewmate waited no longer, instantly pulling his personal comm from his belt and thumbing it on. A burst of harsh static flared out of the speaker, and Zeb hastily clapped his opposing hand over one ear as Hera whipped her head around to face him. “ _Zeb?_ ”

“They’re jamming us!” he growled.

AP-5 intoned from behind them, “It seems that our operation has been compromised.”

Hera instantly went into action. “AP-5, I need you on comms. See if you can clear up that interference. Zeb, I’m going to need you to go in after them. Do whatever you have to.”

“Right,” Zeb responded grimly. “What about you?”

“I’m going to get the Ghost clear and be ready to extract the others,” she replied. “If you can get them outside, I can do a fly-by pick up. I really doubt this is a coincidence.”

Zeb quickly disappeared out the cockpit door and Hera ignited the engines, waiting only until Zeb’s prehensile feet had hit the pavement before lifting off. The ramp closed automatically, and the Ghost lifted vertically until it cleared the hangar walls before shooting into the skies.

The Lasat rushed toward the Imperial garrison, ignoring the startled yelps and indignant exclamations of passersby as he shouldered his way through them. Forget blending in. He had to find his friends.

* * *

Minutes later, Zeb was heartily cursing the absence of a certain, smaller crewmember. Ezra was a far better fit for things like this. Lasats were never meant to fit in tiny maintenance shafts; they were meant for open combat, not all this sneaking around… even if these shafts were bigger than usual. Designed for Human repair workers, most likely. Still didn’t mean they were big enough to fit a Lasat comfortably.

Of course, it hadn’t been ‘sneaking around’ until these last few minutes. Lasat were made for leaping – making the exterior wall the work of a moment – and the garrison’s interior doors were motion sensing rather than requiring a second ID check. Zeb had actually run into a surprising lack of stormtroopers between point Aurek and point Besh until this last intersection. He’d ended up whacking the interloping trooper over the head before jumping into the nearest shaft, which he’d been regretting ever since.

At least he knew he was on the right level.

Grumbling mentally as he inched forward, Zeb halted abruptly as a voice echoed through the vent. “It will be far easier to explain to Admiral Thrawn now that I have you in my hands,” a woman’s voice remarked calmly. “But he seems to want you alive for some reason.”

“I’ll give you nothing,” Kallus’s voice promised grimly.

“We will see.”

Zeb peered through a grate below him and froze at the sight of the hallway below. His friends were just outside an open cell, surrounded by gleaming white armor. One stormtrooper stood with his blaster leveled at Rex from the front, another covered Kallus from behind, and two stood on either side of Lieutenant Lyste (so it _was_ him), one holding the prisoner by his arm while the other covered all three of their prisoners. The stormtrooper helmet, dual DC-17 pistols, and E-11 rifle their victims had been carrying were on the floor at their feet. Six additional troopers stood with rifles at the ready, forming a loose circle around the arrestees and a woman with chin-length black hair and a gray Imperial uniform. “What’s Pryce doing here?” Zeb growled under his breath.

Oblivious to their observer, below Pryce studied Kallus for a moment, as if trying to figure something out, then gestured to the nearest trooper. “Restrain the traitor and escort him to a high security cell. We’ll deal with him later.”

The evesdropping Lasat tensed as the trooper stepped forward. _Bad, bad, bad…_ Kallus being locked up separately from the others would make things worse very, very quickly, and lower the chances of all of them escaping dramatically. He couldn’t allow them to take Kallus away. Zeb squirmed around until he could reach his belt, grabbing a roughly sperical object from it, then pulled forward until he could see the people below again. Gritting his teeth, he twisted his arm into position over the grate and then let the small object drop.

There was an almost unnoticeable clatter as the seemingly innocuous object hit the floor – before reddish-brown smoke billowed from it, quickly filling the hallway and cell. At the same moment, the would-be prisoners acted.

Kallus ducked and pivoted at the same moment, the expanding blue rings of a stun blast from behind missing his head by centimeters and spiralling over his head with a rippling sound somewhere between metallic and instrumental. His extended left arm made contact with his assailant’s rifle, knocking it from his grip as Kallus carried through with a right-handed punch to the stormtrooper’s midsection, doubling him over as the ex-Imperial’s armored right knee came up to meet the descending helmet. Its owner went down like a rock.

The blast intended for Kallus continued unimpeded and hit the approaching trooper. He was instantly knocked backward, unconscious before he hit the ground.

Lyste broke from his minder’s grip and dove to the floor as the trooper attempted to grab hold of him, before rolling to his back and forcefully kicking the man’s chestplate with both feet. Not expecting much resistance, the trooper stumbled backward with a startled huff of breath as the stormtrooper who had been on the other side of Lyste rushed blindly into the fog, apparently oblivious to his comrade’s difficulties. The lieutenant scrambled to his feet as the remaining trooper drew himself up and rushed toward him.

Rex abandoned subtlety entirely and plowed straight into his guard, missing a deadly red-plasma discharge from his rifle by such a narrow margin that he felt the heat as it passed. A moment later he was wrestling for control of the weapon, trying to keep it aimed away from his crewmate and their fellow prisoner. A stray bolt from in somewhere in the smoke smashed into the control pad for the cell, whose door obligingly began to slide shut. Rex managed to throw his opponent off balance and shoved him through the rapidly closing door, the Clone lunging after his next opponent as the door slammed in the hapless trooper’s face.

No more than three seconds had passed.

The sound of several rifles firing began as Zeb, still in the vent, managed to maneuver so his feet were sticking out of the exit before letting go and dropping into the smoke. He landed solidly on someone’s shoulders. There was a yelp before his unintended landing pad fell to the ground with a clatter, and Zeb leaped clear and landed on his feet.

“Sorry,” he remarked automatically, then shook himself when the smoke shifted and he caught a glimpse of white armor. He’d just apologized to a _stormtrooper_!

The Lasat barely had time to register this before he found himself facing another trooper, and he automatically drew back his fist and swung. Instantly another appeared out of the fog, and Zeb stepped forward, pulling his electrostaff from his back and igniting both ends with crackling purple energy. “You want my friends,” he growled, “you’ll have to get through me first."

* * *

One problem with these backwater garrisons: they may be slapdash, poorly trained, and unable to aim to save their life, but it also meant that brawling, local fighting styles, and pure instinct hadn’t been drilled out of them yet. Rex’s current opponent was causing far more trouble than he rightfully should have, using a form Rex wasn’t familiar with to land an respectable amount of hits for a stormtrooper.

Unfortunately for the trooper, training and experience weren’t the same thing.

Finding an opening, the Clone dispatched his opponent with a fist to the faceplate, shaking his hand out as he belately remembered that he wasn’t wearing armor or – more importantly – his gauntlets. He then ran toward Kallus, who had been reduced to grappling on the floor with his second opponent, and knocked the real trooper over the head with his own dropped rifle. Rex grabbed Kallus’s hand and jerked him to his feet before glancing toward Lyste. His assailant was lying unconscious on the floor, and the former lieutenant was standing uncertainly over him with a rifle held loosely in one hand.

Rex stooped to reclaim his pistols, then narrowed his gaze on Lyste as Kallus reclaimed his helmet – now sporting a black scuff across the right side – from the floor and donned it before snatching up his E-11 rifle. “You coming?” Rex demanded of the ex-prisoner.

Lyste swallowed, glancing at the trooper on the floor, then his jaw tightened and he gave a short nod.

The smoke was beginning to clear, and they were running out of time. Alarms blared through speakers overhead. “Zeb!” Rex shouted. “Come on!”

The distinctive sound of fist versus duraplast helmet rang out twice, and Zeb bolted out of the smoke and past his crewmates. “Who’s waiting on who?” he yelled over his shoulder.

Rex ran after him, Kallus gesturing hastily for Lyste to follow before following suit.

Lyste hesitated for less than a second before following the two Rebels down the hall, but it was long enough. A hand came down on his shoulder from behind him and he whirled around, fist dealing the face of the person who’d grabbed him a solid _crack_! He proceeded to recoil in alarm as Governor Pryce fell backwards – then snapped out of his shock and rushed after his would-be rescuers.

He soon reached the edge of the smoke to find himself in company of all three Rebels. Kallus glanced over his shoulder to see if Lyste was still there, then shoved his former co-worker in front of him, making sure that he was covered as they made their escape.

The base was in chaos, ever-increasing numbers of white garbed troopers swarming into view like an angry nest of hornets. Chances were they’d never had to deal with anything like this before, and their troops had clearly not been trained adequately. One trooper tripped over their own armor and sent another sprawling, and Rex gave a mocking salute in the former’s direction as they raced out the door and into the garrison’s speeder parking.

Zeb activated his comm and a light began blinking, the tracker activating.

From behind the garrison wall, the Ghost appeared overhead and slowed to a halt. The ramp opened, and the ship lowered within reach.

“Time to go,” Rex said, and all four rushed forward, jumping the slight distance between the ground and the ramp. The ramp closed quickly, and the Ghost shot skyward.

Behind them, Pryce and the single remaining member of her squad exited into the parking lot, the former glaring at the sky in impotent fury before raising a comm to her mouth. “All fighters, intercept that freighter,” she ordered. “We want them alive.”

Inside the ship, Zeb and Rex headed straight for the gunner's turrets. Kallus removed his helmet before grabbing Lyste’s arm and directing him toward the cockpit, where he shoved him unceremoniously into Sabine’s brightly-painted seat and took the co-pilot’s position in front of him. “Strap in,” Kallus advised, doing so himself. “This will be a bumpy ride.”

Lyste hastily obliged as Hera glanced briefly at Kallus. “Report?”

“Trap,” he replied shortly. “Pryce was there, though we did release Lieutenant Lyste.”

“Good to know!” she shouted back at him as the engines revved loudly, making it hard to hear anything as the cockpit tilted upward.

In atmosphere, they could hear the whine as Twin Ion Engine fighters fell in behind them, taking a hit on their shields before either Rex or Zeb got off a shot. There was a blast as Kallus triggered the forward cannon, sending a TIE’s spherical cockpit and its parenthesis shaped wings spiraling off toward the ground. Another three appeared right in front of them, and Hera swerved sharply as another shot echoed from behind. One of the fighters burst into flames as Lyste flinched at its closeness.

Hera grabbed the yoke, pulling back until they were going nearly vertical. The sky changed from light blue – to dark blue – to black with stars….

The Twi’lek gunned the engine for all it was worth to get out of the planet’s gravity well, yelling, “Kallus, how long to lightspeed?"

“Eighteen seconds,” he shouted back. “Fifteen – “

The remaining TIES were gaining on them.

“Eight –“

Behind them Lyste squeezed his eyes shut, sure they were about to go up in flames.

“NOW!”

Hera grabbed the hyperdrive lever and pressed it forward. Space warped into blue lines around them –

And the _Ghost_ was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized in the middle of writing this chapter that I have never written an action scene before. And of course the characters had already decided to get into a fist fight, a gun battle, and aerial combat. IN ONE CHAPTER.  
> In my defense, they started it.


End file.
